


Eleventh's Knight

by Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/F, F/M, Hot Tub, Multi, Orgy, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-08 13:26:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw/pseuds/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the following prompt from eleventy-kink.livejournal.com: The Doctor is a flaily wizard and Clara is the tiny knight who keeps having to save him from dragons. Except that it didn't want to be short, and it didn't want to be porn. So instead we have a remix of a variety of elements from Series 7 in a fantasy AU.</p>
<p>EDITED: On second thought, it grew some smut at the end. The first three chapters are pretty well PG with some violence; the last chapter is an orgy, but it follows immediately after the events of the first three, so it goes here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Off To See the Wizard

**Author's Note:**

> I envision this version of the Doctor being even more hyperactive than usual. He's still brilliant and powerful and more than a bit mad, though. And he's less self-confident, though he is very capable of putting up a veneer when he needs to. Physically, he looks much the same, except that he is, again, even more expressive, especially with his arms.  
> This version of Clara looks much the same, except more muscular and a bit more sturdily built. I actually found her trickier to do, since I feel like she tends to use her intelligence, compassion, and nurturing tendencies to get out of scrapes as opposed to seeking a violent solution (especially compared to, say, River). Not that knights can't (or shouldn't) have those tendencies but...well, let's just say I hope she's both recognizably Clara and a kick-butt warrior.

“Dame Clara Oswin Oswald, Knight of the Order of the Leaf, defender of the fair realm of Tardis, servant of justice, protector of the innocent, begs entry to this dwelling place.” The official greeting always seemed like a bit much, she thinks. Her horse makes a suspicious noise; she supposes he agrees. She sighs. Nothing. She peers at the surprisingly small, blue tower. Doctors are wizards; everyone knew that. As such, they tend to be eccentric and inscrutable and live in towers whose bizarreness increases in direct proportion to that of its inhabitant. This order of mages, of which this man was said to be the eleventh (for some arcane reason), is so otherworldly that they forsake any name but their title, and do more outlandish things besides, and yet all the sorcerers of the order lived in simple, boxy structures. Indeed, legend said that all the wizards of that order are but one man who could change his appearance who therefore insisted on being called the Doctor, but that, Clara was certain, is mere myth. And truly, what does it matter? So many wizards in different places with different faces and personalities? As good as each their own man.

Clara scowls, getting frustrated. If these Doctors are just one man spread across a hundred times and places, that would at least explain why he is so rude as to not open his door. At least it won't be getting dark and cold for a few more hours, but it has been a full day's ride, and she might wish for something to eat. So she shouts and pounds on the door and walks all the way around the tower to see if there was an open window or secret entrance and swears quietly to herself and sings once she starts getting bored.

She is almost ready to ride back to town, noble request or no, when the door swings open of its own accord. Well, she thinks, Doctors are unpredictable at the best of times. And Knights of the Leaf are fearless and bold. She steps into the tower without a doubt in her heart.

“You look a bit short to be a knight.” His voice sing-songs down from somewhere above her. She blinks as her eyes try to adjust. “And a bit female for someone named Oswin Oswald. That's two blokey names in a row.” She looks up, astounded to see him dangling from the ceiling, hanging by his knees from some enigmatic contraption, hands flashing as he makes some sort of repairs. Something flares and he starts and swears and mutters something she cannot hear.

She clears her throat and does her best not to look too flabbergasted. “My name is Dame Clara Oswin Oswald, Knight--”

“Yes, yes, enough with the formal greetings,” he drops down beside her. “And you can call me Doctor, or the Doctor when you are referring to me. I would offer to show you around, but I'm afraid it would take too long.” He gestures with great sweeps of his arms to indicate the scope of the hall, which is far more majestic than Clara would have thought possible and appears to lead off into labyrinthine corridors.

“That's--”

“Impossible?”

“Magical.” She crosses her arms over her breastplate and turns towards him. “And you may stop interrupting my sentences at any time.”

“Very well, Dame Clara Oswin Oswald,” he snatches up his staff; it is a long, dark piece of wood, inlaid with copper and ivory and set with a swirling green stone at the tip, and he uses it to gesture at her. “What brings you to my humble tower?”

“The Lords of this land bid me ride as messenger to you and beg of you to cleanse this land of a great evil.” He motions with his hands for her to continue. “There is a dark Intelligence which broods in the west. They say it controls the very snow, and great beasts besides. I am to aid and protect you on this mission, and then remain as your assistant and companion.” 

“Companion?” he scoffs, and leads her by the hand, up into the twists of the tower. “Do I need companions?” He waves madly out the window. “Have I not got the forests and the beasts therein? Do I not have the water spirits of the ponds and the river which flows from them? How many nights have I been lulled to sleep by the song of the river? Have I not got--?” A young woman in riotous dress darts between them, around them, and past them again to crouch in the corner.

“Me!” she announces. 

“Yes, Idris,” he sighs, though Clara can tell there is no malice, but deep friendship that underlies the annoyance. “I've always got you. I was just about to mention you.” He waves a hand to indicate her.

“Were you, Doctor? It's so hard to tell.” She cocks her head at Clara, and smiles.

“Clara, Idris; Idris, Clara.” He wrings his hands and Clara can just pick up on a hint of worry in the back of his mind about the two women meeting. “Idris, Clara is a knight, come to give us a hand. Clara, Idris is a djinn. Takes me places, does all sorts of crazy things.” 

“Pleased to meet you,” Clara says, and bows respectfully. 

His voice drops to a whisper as Idris flits back out of the room. “Bit unpredictable, so if you want to get somewhere in particular, you'd best walk or ride. Don't tell her I said that.” He shoots a look over his shoulder. “Now, back to the matter at hand!” The Doctor claps his empty hands together and peers wistfully out the window. “Water spirits not going to be very helpful against someone who can freeze them solid.”

“Fire, then?” Clara suggests. It does seem rather obvious when you put it that way.

“Precisely!” He twirls his staff and it seems to glint with red light. “So, how do you make fire?”

“Hang on, didn't you...?” She is almost certain that he didn't have that staff moments ago. She eyes him suspiciously, but the staff is almost as tall as he is, and under a cloak, he appears to have on a simple, purple suit. Wizards will have their little secrets, she muses. “Well, not being magically-talented, I would use a flint.”

“So would I.” He beams and suddenly his face is pressed against hers, eyes wide. “We'll leave tomorrow morning.”

“Hang on, I've got one in my saddlebags.” She turns and points to her horse, who is outside; when she turns back, he is wearing a top hat which she is certain was not in the room seconds ago, and the staff is gone again. She narrows her eyes at him. “We aren't going to actually fight this enemy by striking sparks at it, are we?”

“No, we are not,” he replies, twirling in place. “She's clever, Idris! I'm starting to like her.” Clara isn't sure where the djinn has gotten to, but there is no response. Still, she feels certain that the comment was heard.

“So, dinner, stable my horse, a good night's sleep, and explanation in the morning?” He nods excitedly. “I can live with that.”


	2. The Desires of Dragons

The next morning, they ride out to the mountains after breakfast. Their destination, a vast cave, looks ominous, but Clara trusts in herself and her sword, even if this wizard has led them into a trap. An ogre comes out to guard the mouth of the cave; he bears a club as stout and brown as he is. “Strax!” The Doctor calls. “Where is Flint?”

“The boy is inside. Stay, I will fetch him.”

“You're friends with an ogre?” Clara asks incredulously.

He winks and rubs his hands together with excitement. “I'm friends with a lot of people.” As he says this, what is obviously a young woman despite her masculine attire and the ogre's indication steps out of the cave. “Miss Jenny Flint.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Clara introduces herself, then whispers to the Doctor. “That was an awful lot of work to go through for a bit of wordplay.”

“Bit of wordplay!” He scoffs. “We are here for far more than that.” He swirls and addresses Jenny. “We were wondering if your good friend Vastra might help us out with some sort of dark ice magic.” 

Jenny curtseys despite her shirt, vest, and trousers, and goes back inside the cave.

“Vastra,” Clara murmurs to herself. “Why does that name sound familiar?” A boom came from inside the cave. “Oh no,” she sighs. “You aren't really having us work with a dragon, are you?” The Doctor only beams as a massive, scaled creature rumbled forth from the blackness, surprisingly agile for something so large. Jenny strides confidently before it. 

"Convinced her to stop eating peasants a while back,” he whispers. “Nice gal, once you get to know her. Just criminals and bandits now. Saved her tail a few times.” He adjusts his top hat and grins irrepressibly. 

“Such a tempting morsel you bring with you, Doctor.” Vastra's voice is high and strong. 

“Is she calling me short?” Clara hisses. “I'll have you know I've killed several dragons—” She flushes and he goes into a wide-eyed panic as they realize that the keen-eared Vastra can obviously hear her. “Just, erm, feral ones, of course. Nothing like a great, civilized serpent such as yourself.”

Vastra and Jenny share a smile, insofar as one person can share a smile with another who would fit comfortably inside her mouth. “She is very clever, for a knight. I think I like her. Not as much as you, Jenny, of course.” Vastra's long, forked tongue snakes out and deftly brushes Jenny's shoulder. “I think a spot of adventure will do us good; what do you think, Jenny?”

“I quite agree, Vastra. Shall I fetch provisions, then?” The dragon nods, and Jenny ducks back inside the cave, coming out some minutes later with a pack on her back and a sword strapped to her hip. Vastra, too, clambers back into the cave only to reemerge as a scaly humanoid.

“A shapeshifter,” Clara realizes.

Vastra nods. “Most dragons are capable of great magic. I find my natural form useful for many things, such as combat or making a first impression.” Clara cannot help but laugh at her own expense. “Whereas this form is often best for traveling, especially when one does not care to be noticed, as well as...other pursuits.” Clara catches the way Jenny's hand ghosts along the ridges of Vastra's head. Such things are not uncommon among all-female orders of priestesses or knights, including her own. 

“Shall we be off, then?” Clara asks, since the Doctor still looks a touch befuddled by Vastra's last comment.

***

That night they make camp: two humans, a wizard, an ogre, and a dragon. Well, Clara muses, I've traveled with strange company before.

“So, Dame Clara Oswin Oswald,” the Doctor begins as they sit around the fire. “What is it you do?”

She shrugs. “I am a knight of the Order of the Leaf. We go where the wind blows us, as the saying goes, bringing justice and peace in our wakes. We tend to those less fortunate and destroy those who let their greed and hatred make them menaces to those around them.” 

“Ah, but what do you do?”

She looks at him quizzically. “What needs to be done, usually.”

“For fun, I mean.”

“I like to bake,” she says. “Souffles, mostly. I'm often protecting farmers, and they tend to have things like milk and eggs and fruit lying around. So I make them souffles.” She blushes. “What about you?”

He waves his hands in a manner which is probably meant to look theatrical or mysterious and fails at both. “Oh, I travel. Do magic. Keep the tower in order. Well, sort-of in order.” He rolls his eyes. “At least it hasn't collapsed yet. And I collect hats.” He is now wearing a bowler. “Rather fancy a good hat.” He crinkles his nose up. “Do you think we'll get a chance to rescue a princess? They've got those lovely great pointy hats with the ribbony bits.” He looks into the fire and rubs his fingers. “I should like to get my hands on one of those. Not to wear, mind,” he blushes. “Just, you know. For the collection.” 

She chuckles at him. “Well, I suppose we could always ask the next princess we run into.” 

***

The next day passes without incident until it is drawing on to dusk, and they come to a vast castle. Its courtyard is ringed by a stone wall with an iron gate, and it is there they pause to consider their next move.

“An excellent opportunity to test our martial might!” Strax declares. They ignore him.

“Perhaps we can take shelter here for the night,” Jenny offers, much more sensibly.

“The place seems deserted,” Clara says. “Jenny, you come with me,” she decides. “Let's see if there's anyone here. You three, watch the horses and hold the gate.”

“Why can't I come with you?” the Doctor pests. 

“Because some people are afraid of wizards and other magic users,” she explains. “Often for good reason,” she adds, just a bit annoyed with him.

She and Jenny approach the front door of the castle, hands conspicuously not on their weapons. Clara diligently recites her full introduction, and this time the door opens at once, and by far more mundane means. A dark-skinned noble and what is obviously his manservant stand behind the doors. “I have the honor to introduce you to Baron Georges de la Maitland, lord of this manor and all the lands, farms, vineyards, and orchards in the lands beyond. And I have the misfortune of bidding you adieu, and urging you to flee this place before nightfall, and you value your lives.” The manservant bows as he concludes his speech.

Clara and Jenny exchange a troubled look, but Clara breaks the silence with resolve. “I am a knight of the Order of the Leaf, as I have told you, and I should be remiss if I did not offer my services and the services of my fellows in defeating the evil which lies over this place.” 

De la Maitland peers past her to the gate. “You have strange fellows indeed, Dame Knight. But though you traveled with the fiends of hell, I would reward you richly if you could lift the curse which has lately befallen my home. Come inside, and you may rest and take sustenance. Night will soon fall, and you will need to be strong to survive. Follow me, and I will tell you what has happened.”

They sit, and eat, and Georges introduces them to Porridge, an oddly-named but fierce-looking dwarf. “He is a mercenary whom I have hired,” he begins, “but that is what is most recent; let me begin at the beginning.” He stands, and paces. “For some time, my house has been in a bitter rivalry with the line of the Duke of Hallingham to the west. We have bickered and played political games with one another, and sometimes blood was even drawn. But of late, things have escalated, and our men have done open battle with one another. Indeed, it reached the point where the Queen herself demanded that we settle the dispute once and for all, by any means necessary. An arbiter was duly appointed, and since the root of the conflict is lost to the ages, he decided that we should each make a gift to the other and let bygones be bygones. And so I gave the Duke a dozen barrels of fine wine, and he bestowed upon me a dozen suits of armor.”

“A princely gift on either side,” Vastra observes. “Where lies the fault?”

“Upon the armor lies some dark enchantment,” Georges explains. “When I had my men try them on, they were killed at once, and now the armored corpses stalk the halls of my castle by night, slaughtering any they meet.” 

“Why do you not flee?” Jenny asks.

“I have sent my two children to live with my late wife's brother,” he explains. “But I cannot leave my home. Not like this. But alas,” he sighs, “only a few of my retainers are left, none of whom can fight, and so I am forced to hire soldiers such as I can find them in the hopes of ridding my castle from this evil. So, now you have heard the whole of my tale. Will you stay and aid a desperate man? Or will you take the sensible course and steal away in the last moments of daylight?”

The five travelers turn and speak amongst themselves.

“I would fain hear the Duke's side of this, and render full justice,” Clara admits. “But this strikes me as foul sorcery on its face.”

The Doctor nods. “Many great and good warriors have used enchanted arms and armor, but never in such a way as the Baron described.”

“I say we destroy them, then,” Vastra said, and Jenny and the others nod.

“So we will get to crush things after all?” queries Strax, who is none of the brightest, but who had followed that thread well enough.

“I am afraid so,” the Doctor says, then turns back to de la Maitland. “We have conferenced, and the decision is unanimous. We will stay,” the Doctor announces. 

“Right, where, do these things usually operate?” Clara asks. “Do they come looking for people, or do they patrol randomly?”

“I cannot say for certain,” the Baron replies. “But they do not appear very bright.”

“I think we should go looking for them,” Clara says just as the door to the dining hall begins to crack and shudder. “Well, I've been wrong before,” she said, putting down her mug of tea and drawing her sword. “Skip right to the tactical bits, Baron. Does anything work on them?”

“We managed to dismember one, once.” He scowls. “The arm nearly strangled my butler before we could melt it down.”

“Charming,” the Doctor says, just as the ceiling caves in. “Oh dear!” he yelps. “They seem to have locked onto my magical signature,” he apologizes as Strax flattens the helmet of the intruding armor, then Porridge rips its arm off with his bare hands. 

“Terrific,” Clara swears as she takes off the legs of another suit at the knee. “Now figure out something clever and magical to do about them! Bloody wizards,” she mutters, joining Vastra and Jenny to hold the door with claw and sword.

“Ah, yes, naturally.” The Doctor picks up a severed boot, tosses it from hand to hand, and gives it a lick. “Oh, I can work with this,” he says, and his staff glows green. A wave of light courses from its tip, and a suit of armor falls dead. “Should have this lot dealt with by dawn, I should think.”

***

As it happens, one straggler manages to elude them until the sun rises. Georges invites them to stay, and sleep during the day, as is his own habit. The travelers, exhausted from the night's combat, readily agree, and they each have their choice of rooms in the empty castle. They deal with the last suit of enchanted steel early the next evening (it had hidden in the armory, where none of them had thought to look), and spend the night again in an effort to get back to a normal sleep cycle. In the morning they bid Georges adieu, taking provisions for the road as their only payment.

“You fight well,” Clara says to Vastra, Jenny, and Strax as they leave. “It is comforting to travel with brave, skilled warriors once more.”

“Thank you,” Vastra replies. “That means much, coming from a dragonslayer.” Clara's jaw hangs open a moment, and the other two women share a laugh.

“You're welcome, maneater,” she manages at last, and all three join the laughter. “Tell me, why do you fight?”

“Why does any dragon fight?” Vastra asks. “Greed. Whether for gold or fame or blood or the taste of flesh, every dragon craves something in the depths of his or her heart.”

“And what do you desire?”

“Love, and a safe place to live,” she answers, astounding Clara perhaps a bit less than it might have. She has seen her and Jenny...interact. They clasped hands even as they walk beside the pack horses.

“I do not think there are many who would call such desires greedy.”

“No? Even when there are so many who do not have, who will never have the same?” Clara is speechless again. “And what of you? Do you have a love and a heroic calling besides?”

For a bare instant, Clara's mind holds the image of the Doctor. “No, not at the moment. Lovers I have had, but no true love.” 

Vastra smiles, all teeth. “Be greedy indeed, Dame Knight, if you should stumble upon that jewel without price. Clutch it with your all your limbs, sink fang and claw alike into it.”

Clara bows her head. “I shall bear that in mind.”

***

They follow the road without incident until the Cape of Corvaz. “Ferryman, what is the rate?” Jenny asks. 

“Ten thousand gold pieces,” he spits.

“Now look, we're five men and five horses,” she says. “Not a bloody caravan.”

“Ten thousand gold pieces, and not a copper shy,” he insists. “That's the rate for any man or beast mad enough to dare the Cape with Skaldak flying about.” He gestures to the cliffs at the mouth of the Cape. “He's taken up in the seacaves there. Comes out now and then if a boat goes on the water.

“Skaldak?” the Doctor pries.

“An ice drake,” Vastra informs him.

“Well,” the Doctor rejoins, all jangly confidence once more. “That's easy enough. We just have you fly out and fight him. Fire melts ice.”

Vastra snarls. “I would not care to fight him. For one thing, I am not certain I would win. His armor is thick, and he is a famed warrior, even among dragons. For another thing, there is the simple matter of professional courtesy, if you will. There are few enough of us. Skaldak stands in our way, it is true, but he will fight in any cause, good or ill, if he thinks it will bring him glory.”

“Well,” he turns to Clara. She isn't sure if he is exhibiting nervous tics or if the hand motions are normal. “You've killed dragons, then. What do we do?”

“Uh-uh.” She shakes her head. “Feral dragons, remember? The kind you can trick into making a dumb mistake or lure out into a clearing where you can use a fast horse and a long spear to keep away from the claws and the tail and the fire breath. In a cave? Forget it. He wouldn't even have to aim. Whatever you wanted to try, as long as he stayed in the cave, we're charcoal. Well, ice drake: frozen solid.”

“Beggin' everyone's pardon, but why don't we ride around?” Jenny cocks her head to one side.

“Because the Black River runs into the Cape, and the nearest ford is four days ride out of the way,” the Doctor explains.

“Well, Plan C, then,” Clara offers. Everyone else turned to look at her. “We go talk to the dragon and see if we can convince him to let us pass.” 

“Not the worst plan,” Vastra admits over Strax's objection, and they get the ferryman to point out the cave where Skaldak had been last seen.

***

“Hail, Skaldak the Terrible!” Clara says at the mouth of the cave, trying to put as much boom into her voice as she can manage. 

“Disturb me at your peril, mortal.” His voice rolls forth from the bowels of the cave, managing to sound bored and majestic at the same time.

“What brings you to these lands, O great Skaldak?” 

“If it will bring peace from your nattering, I am sent by Simeon the Intelligent to delay a wizard and a knight.” His grin is audible. “But I may just kill them.”

“Is that what you are reduced to, wrathful Skaldak?” the Doctor scoffs. “Taking orders from a third-rate mage with dreams of conquest? Besieging defenseless ports?”

“There is much glory to be had in breaking your bones, Doctor,” Skaldak responds, and a chill wind blew from the cave.  
“And how much glory is there in having this cave collapse on you?” Clara prods and the Doctor's eyes go wide. Well, hopefully Skaldak wouldn't call her bluff. “I mean, really, delay us? Sounds like Simeon didn't think you had it in you. I mean, we delayed us. We took two days to clear a castle of enchanted suits of armor.”

“What we couldn't do was take down the Duke who sent them,” Jenny adds helpfully. “You want glory? Kill an evil wizard in his castle.”

“I guess at the end of the day, there's one question you have to ask yourself: do you want to be the star of your story? Or a footnote to his?” the Doctor concludes.

This evidently strikes a nerve with Skaldak, and it takes Clara some time to decipher the awful sound as a dragon laughing. “There is some truth in what you say. I have grown bored of stalking these ships. I will go and see if this Duke is the evil wizard you claim. And if he is not? Well, he will still be delicious.”

“You talked a dragon into leaving?” the ferryman says, incredulous. “No fare,” he says at last, still shaking his head. “Least I can do for you since you've opened business up again.”

***

“Doctor,” Clara asks as they made camp that night. “Who is Simeon the Intelligent?”

“A mage who thinks entirely too much of himself, if the name is anything to go by.” He gives an animated shrug and begins juggling a set of clubs.

“Says the man who has appropriated the name of an entire stripe of magic user as his own.”

“You should see my old rival, the Master,” he counters, dropping a club. “All these years to practice, and still hardly any better.” 

Clara blinks. “Why, you look hardly older than I!”

He laughs, and takes her by the hands, and twirls her about. “You should know that a wizard's appearance can be deceiving. Mind you,” he goes on, chewing his lip and contorting his face, “I sometimes think it's deceived me, too. Some days, I can't remember how old I am.” 

Unable to tell if he was leading her on, Clara steers the subject away. “So, is there someone to share those uncountable years?” 

“Well, I have the water spirits, and Idris,” he says, suddenly flustered and hand-wringing. 

“So, no Mrs. Doctor, then?” 

“Probably not in the way you mean, no,” he allows, and Jenny signaled that the stew was hot through, and he took a bowl gratefully, and now they were around the fire.


	3. Fire and Ice

“Looks like a monastery up ahead,” the Doctor calls. They have reached the mountains where Simeon is said to be amassing his magical forces. 

“We must stop there, then,” Clara replies. Vastra is not handling the cold well, and some time out of the wind will do her well. “We can spend the night there and journey on by morning,” for indeed they had pressed on well in the darkness, hoping to find some shelter.

“Do you suppose they are warrior monks?” Strax inquires. “I have been craving a skirmish for some time now.” 

“Wasn't that bandit ambush yesterday enough excitement for you?” Jenny retorts, forgivably short-tempered with Vastra using her as a crutch.

“Was that only yesterday?” Strax asks with a hint of nostalgia in his voice. He remains mercifully silent until they reached the doors of the monastery. 

“I am Mother Gillyflower, Abbess of this place,” an older woman in a crimson robe greets them at the door. “Be welcome in the Monastery of Heavenly Sweetness. Sister Ada will take your things.” The young woman she indicates had obviously been blinded in some dreadful accident, and the company demurs the offer, letting her guide them to their rooms instead. 

“I am blind, not feeble,” Ada insists.

“Still, you use your hands to find your way through the corridors,” Jenny observes, and that is that.

“What do you do here?” Clara asks, intrigued. 

“We pray and prepare ourselves for the coming of our gods, and the perfection on earth that comes with them.” She sighs. “I can hope that I shall be healed upon that glorious day, and that I may rejoice in fulness with my brothers and sisters in faith.” Her voice struggles to keep out the bitterness. “Mother Gillyflower believes that I will be found wanting because of my deformity, and that mine will be some lesser portion, and even that I may be cast out into the suffering with the rest of humanity because of the sin it so clearly represents.” Her voice is suddenly, weirdly, cheerful again. “Here are your rooms! Some of the brothers and sisters have deserted us of late; the religious life is not for everyone, I suppose. I shall wait here and lead you to the dining hall, should you wish some refreshment before bed.”

***

“Bit odd, this lot,” Jenny whispers. “Even for monks.”

“At least they aren't cursing me as the serpent of temptation,” Vastra points out.

“Well...” Jenny replies, and the two women shared a kiss before rejoining the others in the hall.

***

Dinner is a rousing affair, and it is nearly morning before the travelers are in their beds. Clara, however, is not asleep. Something nibbles at her about this monastery; something that might be lurking in the shadows. Her face crinkles into a frown, and she belts on her sword over her shift, then a heavy robe over that. It feels wrong carrying a sword in a place of peace, but...well, if there is nothing the matter, she can always apologize later, if she has to. 

She slips out into the hall. Nothing. She takes a torch from a sconce and peeks into the Doctor's room. To her horror, a pale figure stands over him. It flinches away from the torch, and she lunges in and takes its head off cleanly at the neck. Yes, she decides, it was definitely a vampire. She wipes off her blade and sheathes it, then wakes the Doctor. He gives a startled yelp and she covers his mouth with her hand. “Quiet! I just saved you from a vampire. There might be more of them. Get up, let's warn the others.” She waits until he finishes gyrating his arms to let go of his mouth, then helps him untangle himself from the sheets.

Vastra and Jenny are waiting for them in the hall, swords and torches in hand. “We too were ambushed,” Vastra says grumpily. “Jenny left it with a knife in its heart.” Clara is too tense to laugh when she realizes that their clothes are not bloodstained. “Strax is gathering our things.” She hisses. “Much as I would like to, we cannot stay here.”

“I agree,” Clara says. “Stick together in pairs, and rouse the monks quickly and quietly, and get them out of here. I doubt all of them are vampires—they must have something to prey upon.” 

“Other than wayward travelers,” the Doctor adds a touch of gallows humor. 

They nod, agree to meet at the front doors, and split up. “Where are we going?” the Doctor asks.

“To talk to Mother Gillyflower,” Clara says. “I have a sinking suspicion she knows something about this. Here,” she says, tossing him her torch and taking another.

“I've got my staff for light,” he says, crossly. 

“And vampires are vulnerable to fire,” she counters. “Now come on.” 

“What's the matter?” Ada asks, having crept up behind them. “I thought I heard some ruckus. Did you say something about vampires?”

Clara and the Doctor exchange looks. “Perhaps a bit of a vampire problem. A sprinkling of vampires. What is the right term for a group of vampires, anyway?” the Doctor finally asks. 

“We must warn Mother Gillyflower,” Ada says at once. “She will know what to do. Come with me.” She guides them slowly through the halls, but they do not encounter any more vampires. “Mother Gillyflower?” Ada calls softly. “Are you well? They say there are vampires about.”

A snickering laugh. “Of course there are vampires about, child,” Gillyflower says. “Where did you think your brothers and sisters were going?” She smiles and it is a terrible sight. “Now they are truly my children,” she says, baring her fangs. “And now the three of you can join them, or die.” 

More vampires appear out of the shadows, and Clara alertly pushes Ada behind them as the Doctor waves his torch and his staff, which burns with emerald fire. She lights the nearest vampire's arm ablaze; as it screams, Clara takes off its head. “We have to get out of here,” she shouts as the Doctor turns two more vampires into walking infernos. “It will be daybreak soon,” she adds, and they bull their way out of the room. Clara throws her torch behind her and slings Ada over one shoulder. The Doctor pauses from time to time to send gouts of green flame with every swing of his arms at their pursuers, and she shouts for him to keep moving, and now the monastery is starting to burn.

They meet Jenny, Vastra, Strax, and the other brothers and sisters out in the courtyard. Only Vastra is wearing something approaching a smile as she basks in the heat of the blazing monastery. The building is well and truly aflame, now. Clara might wish they had arrived sooner, but they have saved many lives tonight, she thinks, and the sun crests over the hills. There, she thinks, it is finished. None could survive such a blaze, and even now the sunlight pierces the structure. She turns to look at Ada, and it is obvious that the young woman would be crying but for the damage done to her eyes.

“What shall I do now?” she asks. “I have been in the monastery since I was a girl.”

Clara shrugs. “There are other religious callings in the world. Mayhap you can find one which seeks to bring about a more perfect existence rather than waiting for one.”

Ada nods. “If nothing else, I will take a caution from this experience. When you are sealed away, even the slightest corruption can fester and consume.”

They stay another day to help the monks sift through the embers and salvage what remains of their home. Several of the outbuildings are still intact, including one with much of the preserved food (and two vampires which they cut into bloody pieces). There is enough for them to make it to the nearest village, if they are careful. 

“It seems trouble follows us everywhere we go,” Clara says to the Doctor.

“Oh, Clara,” he says sadly, “trouble's been following me much longer than that.”

“Then it's good that you have me here to protect you,” she replies.

“Dame Clara Oswald,” he says, wrapping his arms around her and swinging her about, “you are truly impossible.”

***

They are getting close, now. The Doctor is almost sure of it. Strax swears he can smell the battle coming. Clara double-checks her armor and her weapons. Vastra and Jenny talk quietly together whenever they can. They have all come too far to turn back.

And, suddenly, it is literally true. The snow springs to life around them, forming crude imitations of men. A tall, distinguished, sinister figure strides forward towards them as they form a defensive circle. “My spies tell me of a wizard running freely within my realm,” he says. “I have no need of allies and I have the impression that you are here on some sort of foolish errand to destroy me.” Great beasts step up to flank him: the yeti of legend. “Any final words?”

“Simeon the Intelligent versus the errant fools, then,” the Doctor says, doing an admirable job of making the shaking of his legs look like a conscious choice. The women draw their swords, Clara readies her shield, and they begin sizing up opponents. “Somehow, I rather like our odds.” Clara gives a tiny nod to Vastra, who takes her proper draconic form, and sends billows of flames in every direction.

When the steam clears, Simeon and his two yeti are inside a protective bubble, but at least the snow-creatures (and every other flake for fifty meters) have been reduced to puddles. The two yeti charge them, and Vastra, with a shriek, seizes one of them and tears off one of its arms. Clara is shocked when no blood comes out of the wound; it must be some sort of golem. She and Jenny and Strax close with the other yeti, and she sees out of the corner of her eye, the Doctor, staff raised, locked in a wizard's duel with Simeon. Their swords have little effect, but they distract it so Strax can clamber onto its shoulders and remove its head with his warclub.

Now it is they who encircle Simeon—cautiously, of course. A mage is always dangerous, and Simeon knows it, conjuring up a dozen copies of Clara herself. They swarm Vastra, clinking in their mail, and she writhes and lashes out. Clara herself stays well away—the copies are very good indeed. Instead, she aims a blow from her sword at Simeon, who catches it on his staff and lashes out at her.

She lands with a thud on the wet ground. Fortunately, her reflexes are good and she catches the bolt of energy on her shield. But she has done what she had hoped: give the Doctor a few seconds advantage in the duel as he whirls about, cloak and staff whipping around him. Clara gathers herself up and launches her body at Simeon again, and this time he is too distracted to respond. His footing slips in the wet earth, and the impact carries them both to an awkward landing on the rocky ground punctuated by a snap. 

Clara gets up, breathing heavily, and looks down at Simeon; the fall appears to have broken his neck. “Are you hurt?” the Doctor calls, voice pained.

“Not badly,” she calls back. She flexes her arms and legs and feels a strong, sharp pain on her left side. “I may have cracked a rib or two,” she admits. “How are the others?”

Vastra is much happier without a great lot of cloned knights swarming over her, Jenny is somehow untouched, and Strax is quite proud of the scar he will wear. Clara rather thinks it will improve his looks. The Doctor sends him to find some wood to build a pyre for Simeon (best to make sure he is truly destroyed) and a normal fire for heating and cooking. The rest of them fan out very gingerly to spot a cave where they can tend their wounds and rest their bruises. 

Clara tugs off her helmet, then her gauntlets, and finally her boots, to dry in front of the fire that Strax is tending, still nattering on about their glorious victory. She winces as she tries to wriggle out of her chainmail jacket; the Doctor sees her discomfort, and she accepts his help. “I must have banged up my shoulder something fierce,” she says with the amused grin of the lucky victor.

He rests his hands on her shoulder and closes his eyes. “Yes,” he confirms after a moment. “But nothing structural. Just very badly bruised. And something about the ribs, you said?” He waits for her to nod before moving his hands down to her sides and blushing. He frowns, but nods. “Yes, a few of them are cracked. We'd best bind them,” he says, producing a roll of bandages. His face slides ungracefully from terrified, as she has him help remove her tunic, to relieved, as he sees that her breasts are concealed within a halter. 

“Look,” she says, “I'm a knight. I get injured. A lot. I get patched up. Also a lot. Now bloody well bandage my ribs.”

He chants quietly as he winds the soft fabric around her, a spell to speed the healing. She hopes he doesn't lose focus thanks to her undress as he cares for her; she could easily be distracted by the sensation of his fingers on her skin. Instead, he finishes his work, and ties off the bandage. “You'll be right as rain in a week,” he says.

“Thank you, Doctor,” she replies, and kisses his cheek.

***

The return journey is not nearly so eventful. The monastery is still cold ashes. The Cape of Corvaz is once again filled with ships. Baron Georges de la Maitland greets them with open arms in his renovated castle. He has a new neighbor in place of the Duke, he tells them. A dragon named Skaldak, who has promised to leave the Baron alone as long as he is unmolested. They laugh, and thank him graciously for his hospitality. Vastra, Jenny, and Strax return to their comfortable cavern. 

“That leaves the two of us,” the Doctor notes. “Will you be coming back to my tower, then?” he asks, and the reins twitch in his hands.

“I am assigned to protect and assist you,” she reminds him. “At least until I find some more worthy pursuit.” She grins. “But I think I would very much like to go with you to your home, and visit your water spirits, and go wherever Idris takes us, together.”


	4. Water in the Forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a very good reason why Clara doesn't know how water-spirit families work, and it's that I don't know either. All the same, I don't believe there is any sex that would be incestuous based on canon relationships.
> 
> This takes place immediately after the events of Chapter 3, so I'm posting it as part of the same work, but it isn't necessary to read one to understand the other.

“Come on,” he says once they have got their horses stabled. “I know just the thing for after a journey,” and he takes her hand and squeezes, and the way his eyes twinkle Clara thinks that she would follow him on another adventure right now if he asked. 

And it is something of an adventure, she realizes as the wend through the halls and the staircases and the catacombs until, she knows, they are somehow at the very bottom of a building for which left and right, north and south, future and past have no meaning. “Do you like it?” he asks as he lights the torches with his staff.

There are stands and racks of simple wood near where they have entered, wicker baskets filled with plain white towels, and the walls and floor are smooth, grey stone. But the most obvious feature of the room is the immense pool of smoky water in its center. “What is it?” she asks.

“It's a bath,” he explains. “Fed by hot springs.”

“I helped jigger them into place,” Idris says, and Clara is a bit startled when the woman appears out of nowhere behind her. “They help feed the ponds and the river as well; it is all one system of flows.” 

“I come here to relax sometimes,” he explains. “Sometimes alone, sometimes with others.”

“Sometimes with me, sometimes with the pretty one,” Idris teases. “Sometimes everyone at once.” 

Clara looks over at him. The poor fellow is blushing, and his hand is stuck straight out, as though he had been interrupted in the process of pointing out some feature she had overlooked. “I was, erm, thinking you might want to soak in them. And possibly meet some of my friends.” 

“Hello!” Idris calls from the far side of the pool. A quick peek out of the corner of Clara's eye confirms that, yes, the djinn's dress is hanging up on a peg even though, no, she did not see her take it off. “There, now you've met me.” She jumps up and gives Clara an eyeful. “Haven't we met before? Yes, I think we will have.” She sits back down, and Clara and the Doctor can almost look each other in the eye again.

She takes him by the hands. “I rather fancy a long, hot soak. Now help me out of my armor.”

***

The bath suits him, she decides. With his tremulous limbs underwater, he looks peaceful. Not normal, necessarily. But peaceful. She smiles and is beginning to feel herself drift off when suddenly three new presences fill the room. Shocked awake, she forces herself to stay submerged (and therefore concealed). “Doctor,” she hisses, “when I said I wanted to meet your water-spirit friends, I had rather envisioned all of us being clothed, instead of, well, not.”

He cringes and fans down with his arms; they take the cue and sit. “Lose track of the irregularly scheduled orgy, Doctor?” one of them asks. She has smooth, brown skin like silt, and hair like sun shining through the rapids. (Somehow it is blue and yellow at the same time.) “Or did you just not tell your guest? I like her, by the way. She's cute.”

“I was on a bit of a quest,” he explains to the newcomers. “I don't even know what day it is.” He turns back to her. “Possibly I should have mentioned the irregular orgies.”

Clara sits, dumbfounded, five pairs of eyes trained on her. This is his family, she realizes. With whom he sometimes has quite a lot of sex, apparently. Well, she's traveled far and wide. She's heard of stranger customs. Took part in a few of them, in fact. Always wanted to see the world, since she was a girl. Why she became a knight, in fact. “Well, don't let me stop you,” she says numbly, and they all perk up briefly before she starts to get out of the water.

“No, no,” another says. This one has pure cerulean skin and hair like a shoal of tropical fish. “We want to meet you.” She curls around the last one, male, with faintly greenish skin and hair like warm sand.

“Sure,” she says, and reasons that this can't be that much more awkward than getting dressed in front of them while they have an orgy. She sinks back into the bath and feels her toes graze someone's foot. “I'm Clara, Knight of the Order of the Leaf.” Somehow, she thinks, now is not the time for the full formal introduction. Definitely designed for more clothed occasions.

“I'm the River Song,” says the one who was first to speak. “Call me River.”

“A river named River and a doctor named Doctor? No wonder the two of you get along,” she jokes, and to her immense delight, they all laugh.

“I'm Roranicus, and this is Amelia,” the male spirit says. “Or Rory and Amy for short, if you like.” He seems a bit embarrassed by their names. Or perhaps it is the entirety of the situation. Bit strange having a surprise guest at the orgy. “It's nice to meet you,” he concludes.

***

They talk, and they flirt, and Clara feels her face starting to go a bit red, and not entirely from the steam, and she gets the distinct feeling that they are slowly, subtly crowding around her. Clara isn't sure she minds, come to think of it. She knows she hasn't been drinking, but she feels that same, giddy, sort of rush, and before she realizes it, she brushes a wet lock of hair from the Doctor's eyes and kisses him.

“Now the fun can begin,” Amy crows, and leaps up onto the surface of the water to dance a bit of a jig. Her legs just go on and on, Clara thinks, and River takes her by the hand to kiss her fingertips, one by one. 

Idris is up and dancing, flying corkscrews and zig-zags to match River's hair around Amy. They've barely touched, but Clara isn't sure they aren't having sex. Rory is watching the pair of them go, leaning back in his front-row seat. The Doctor clumsily slides next to her (even the soothing water isn't having much of a damping effect) and plants frantic kisses on the muscles of her back and shoulders. She half-turns toward River—she wants to keep at least half an eye on the show in the center of the pool while it lasts—and kisses full, golden-brown lips. Clara licks a drip of water from her cheek and grins as the dancers crash at last into Rory's lap.

With no warning, River pitches back and hooks a leg over Clara's shoulder. “Don't forget to come up for air,” she coos, and Clara takes the hint. 

Unfortunately for River, Clara can only last a few seconds at a go, since the Doctor has decided that just now is the perfect time to slip a few fingers inside of her. She breaks the surface of the water, gasping and moaning and swearing and, blessedly, breathing before plunging in again to make the most of her air supply before the Doctor's fingers tease and explore and twist the bubbles from her lungs. 

“Please?” she manages to beg, and the Doctor fills her at once. She struggles for purchase on the wet stone of the pool's bottom, and River catches her and cradles her, but all Clara can do is cast a grateful look in River's general direction (and get lost in her breasts on the way back down—those breasts! Those polished-pebble nipples!) because, oh, fuck, yes, please, more, each word and each thrust in a careless call and response. 

***

The next time Clara is feeling particularly coherent, she is sitting in Rory's lap. She isn't entirely sure how she got from one end of the pool to the other, but nothing feels broken and she suspects that there was some very good sex involved. “Jolly good, then,” she says to no-one in specific. 

“Oh good,” Rory says. “She's using words again.” His tone is too good-natured to suspect that she is being mocked. “You drifted off for a minute or two.” He nibbles playfully on her ear. “Ready for another round?”

“Game if you are,” she says, and he reaches into his lap to ease his prick into her arse. “Mmm...” she manages, making sure to find her footing before she starts bouncing too frantically. Amy takes advantage of the delay to swim over, leaving the Doctor to join River and Idris. 

“You've found quite the pretty one, Mr. Pond,” she teases. She ogles Clara rather pointedly, and then kisses Rory and then Clara. “You know how you had to keep coming up for air with River?” Amy's breath feels like cool mist on Clara's cheek, and she nods. “Not a problem that I have,” she continues, and tweaks Clara's nipple with her teeth before she submerges her head. 

That was the last Clara saw of Amy for twelve minutes and three orgasms.

The water-sprite clearly knows how to work in unison with her...husband? Brother? Clara knows she should have a better understanding of nature spirit family dynamics than she does, but she doesn't care at the moment. Not with two pairs of strong, practiced hands flying over her, not with Rory's cock filling her so delightfully, and certainly not with Amy's impossible mouth leaving a month's worth of bite marks and hickeys on her bottom half. Well. She may just have to revise what counts as a month's worth, she decides as a fourth orgasm rips, choking, through her and Amy finally surfaces. 

She gives Amy an overjoyed kiss, and slides off of Rory to nestle between the pair as the others drift slowly over. “Bit of a cooling-down phase,” the Doctor explains, and stretches those great, long limbs out, jabbing everyone equally. “Don't fret, we'll have you out before you get too pruny.” She laughs, because she hardly cares about that at the moment. She laughs, and it echoes, and fades into a comfortable silence. Yes, Clara thinks, I just might be at home here.


End file.
